


If It's You

by alifeasvivid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Teenagers making out, gay pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifeasvivid/pseuds/alifeasvivid
Summary: Alfred is gay. His best friend Arthur is definitely straight. So even if Alfred has a major crush on him, it’ll always be unrequited, right?
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 132





	If It's You

Seventeen year old Alfred F. Jones is in love with his best friend, which could have been totally awesome if his best friend weren’t very decidedly straight.

In elementary school, ten year old Arthur Kirkland had been the nerdy new kid with a funny accent that no one wanted to talk to. Except Alfred. Alfred had adored Arthur from the moment he saw him and his caterpillar eyebrows.

All throughout middle school, they were stuck together like glue. Alfred, perpetually “husky” with a monstrous appetite, developed a taste for computers and video games, as well as flag football; Arthur kept his blemish-covered nose in his books, got perfect grades and smiled indulgently at Alfred’s exuberance with a mouthful of braces.

During freshman year, Alfred traded flag football for track and field. He shot up in height until the chubbiness was entirely gone, replaced with gangly limbs he couldn’t quite keep track of. To his dismay, the doctor deemed that he needed glasses and he avoided wearing them if he could. He excelled at science and math classes, but hadn’t yet outgrown his overly enthusiastic, awkward demeanor. On the other hand, Arthur still had his books, but the braces came off, and his skin cleared up. He joined the drama club, where his accent was more than welcome, and his smile turned from indulgent to witty and just a little snarky and, worst of all, it started doing funny things to Alfred that he absolutely refused to name.

Because contrary to what many people seemed to think, Alfred F. Jones was not completely oblivious. It wasn’t even Arthur’s gender that bothered Alfred; how could that be the issue given his mothers? The fact that Arthur had always been his best friend didn’t really bother him either.

No, the main problem was this: even at fourteen, Alfred knew he was gay and Arthur was… very obviously not.

Alfred definitely remembers coming out to Arthur. During winter break of that year, Arthur had been sharing his thoughts about the upcoming production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and how hot the junior girl playing Queen Titania was, how sweet the girl playing Hermia was. Pausing for a moment, he’d noted Alfred’s uncharacteristic silence and asked if there were any girls in school that Alfred fancied.

Almost without thinking, because he was already used to that kind of talk from the track and field team, Alfred had said “Girls are okay, I guess. They’re nice.”

Arthur had then asked very neutrally, “Just okay?”

Alfred had turned to look at him and said “Yeah. I mean, in that way.”

Arthur had nodded, “Alright.”

That had been the end of it.

In hindsight, Alfred supposes he couldn’t have gotten legitimately upset when Arthur was dating “Hermia” within a month of the start of the second semester. Theatre kids all tended to date each other, it seemed. Alfred did agree, though, that she was really sweet and he tried really hard not to resent her… he had moderate success.

It was over by the end of the school year anyway.

Sophomore and junior years, Alfred continued in track and field and joined the science club. He filled out a little, but not much. He mainly kept his sexuality to himself unless asked and his generally gregarious, cheerful disposition and bright smile earned him many friends. Oddly enough, despite their differing interests and Alfred’s secret crush, he and Arthur were still joined at the hip.

Arthur continued to get perfect grades (with some tutoring from Alfred in algebra), got bigger parts in the school plays. He went on dates with a couple of theatre girls and went out with one from student council that could have been termed a girlfriend. Alfred got used to it.

In March of their junior year, though, Arthur started going out with a boy. He’d told Alfred right before spring break, at which point Alfred had panicked, said how great that was in an octave he couldn’t normally reach and made up some excuse about going camping with his uncle and how he’d be gone for the whole break even though all he did was sulk and ignore both of his mothers’ attempts to figure out was wrong while he played video games with his headphones turned up to possibly damaging volume level.

Arthur’s relationship with the boy had been over by the end of the break. He’d explained that he just wanted to see what it was like, that occasionally he’d think some other guy was attractive, but he’d figured out that he’d rather date girls. Alfred had swallowed the thought of “maybe just maybe” when it came to Arthur along with whatever feelings he had about this so he wouldn’t have to deal with them and things had mainly returned to normal.

When summer vacation came, Arthur and his entire family went back to England for the duration and that was the beginning, Alfred sees in hindsight, of his own complete undoing.

Arthur has returned from summer vacation, with his accent completely restored to a voice that is now done breaking and a new glint in his bright green eyes. He is lithe, no longer as lanky, and he has obvious confidence in the way he carries himself. Rather than wearing any random t-shirt and jeans, he has clearly started putting more thought into how he dresses. Arthur is smooth in a way that Alfred finds very irritating if only because his new attitude and general coolness have fanned the persistent, glowing embers of Alfred’s crush into a full-fledged and steady flame.

Not that Alfred himself hasn’t changed. Before the summer, Arthur had caught up to him in height, but Alfred now squarely surpasses him by a few inches. Between middle distance races and shot-put, Alfred is lean and broad-shouldered and perpetually tan. His vision is finally bad enough that he wears his glasses with stylish red frames all the time, except for during his sports events when he wears contacts. He tutors freshman and sophomores in math and he has also helped to start a club for LGBTQ+ students, which is going very well.

So well, in fact, that a couple of other boys have asked him out.

Though flattered by the offers, he has turned them down.

He and Arthur are still stuck together like glue, after all. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Are you certain you aren’t asexual?” Arthur asks him mildly one afternoon while they’re studying in Alfred’s room. He might as well have been asking Alfred to pass him a pencil.

Alfred, sitting on his bed, glances up from his calculus book. “Huh? No. I mean, a couple people in the club are, but no. I’m not.”

“I heard that Francis Bonnefoy asked you out and you told him no.”

Alfred looks down at his textbook again, casually flipping a page even as the tips of his ears get warm. “Who told you that?”

“Well, clearly not you.”

“Should I have? I told him no, so why does it matter?”

Arthur sets down his history book and leans back in Alfred’s desk chair. “It matters because you haven’t said yes to _anyone_. Ever.”

“I don’t see the point,” Alfred says, starting in on the standard answer he gives everyone who tries to go down this line of questioning with him. “It’s just high school. It’s not like any of us are gonna see each other after we graduate.”

“Are you saying that you and I are not going to see each other after we graduate?” Arthur’s tone starts out annoyed and ends up strangely unsure.

Alfred’s head whips up to see an inscrutable look on his best friend’s face. “What? No. That’s different. We’re best friends, we have been since we were kids, it’s not—. Look, there’s just not anyone— I just don’t see the point.”

“The point is to have fun. And I think you’re lying. In fact, I know you’re lying.”

“I have fun! Jeez, just because I’m not out screwing a different person every other month like you doesn’t mean anything. I just don’t need to date anyone to have fun. I’ve got plenty of other things to do. I wouldn’t even know when to squeeze in a date, let alone an actual relationship.”

“So then aren’t you asexual?”

“No. I’m not. Even if I was, what does it matter to you?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and picks up his history book. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, obviously. But if you’ve never been attracted to anyone, isn’t that the def—?”

“I never said I’m not attracted to someone,” Alfred snaps. “How do you think I figured out that I’m gay?”

“Well who is it then?”

“None of your fucking business.”

Arthur sets down his history book again, sits upright, and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re being rather defensive about this. Why would it not be my business? I’m your best friend. And while there is not a different one every other month as you say, I talk to you about the girls I date.”

“Yeah. I know. You talk about them constantly.”

“That sounds as though it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t. It’s whatever. Sorry.” Alfred buries his head in his book and pretends to be busy reading it and working on the assigned problems, silently praying Arthur will let the subject drop.

“So who is it?”

Alfred looks back up to find Arthur hasn’t moved at all. “No one. It’s no one. I’m ace, okay? You happy now?”

“Is it me?”

All time suspends between them as Alfred tries to make sense out of the intent curiosity and weird hope in Arthur’s expression. He can barely breathe, but it seems Arthur is holding his breath too.

“You’re a piece of shit, Arthur,” Alfred says after an eternity passes. His voice and hands are shaking. He sets his calculus book down and stands up from his bed. “I think you should go.”

Arthur doesn’t move. “Why?”

“Because I don’t really want to talk about this with you right now.”

“Of course not,” Arthur retorts. “And were you ever going to tell me?”

Alfred crosses his arms over his chest defensively, straightening his spine and trying to leverage his height so that Arthur won’t see how upset he is. “Hadn’t planned on it, no. I’m still not planning to, so you should just go home.”

Arthur stands up and strides over to Alfred. “You really don’t have anything to say to me about it?”

“Not particularly.” Alfred steps around him, snatches Arthur’s backpack off the floor and starts haphazardly shoving Arthur’s books into it. “Although I would be curious to know who told you about Francis.”

“He did. He wanted to know if you and I are secretly dating.”

“Clearly, we’re not.”

“What if we were? It’s not an illogical assumption.”

“GET OUT.” Alfred thrusts Arthur’s backpack at him.

Arthur takes the backpack and drops it to the floor. “NO! Stop being so childish. It is severely unfair for you to think that it would be alright to hide something like that from me when you claim that I’m your best friend,” Arthur advances on Alfred, forcing him to stumble backwards toward the end of the bed. He pushes Alfred, causing him to land on his back on the mattress. Arthur climbs over him, hands on either side of Alfred’s head and his knees on either side of his hips as he hovers over him. “And it was cruel of you to keep it from me when I’ve loved you so much and wanted you so badly all this time.”

Every neuron in Alfred’s brain starts firing at the same time trying to make sense of what Arthur is saying; he bites his lip to keep his mouth from falling open in shock and he stares up at Arthur with a look that must be very similar to a deer in headlights.

Arthur brushes Alfred’s hair back from this face and leans in closer, caressing one hand over any part of Alfred that he can reach. “God, you’re even lovelier like this than I’d imagined.”

At that moment, every neuron in Alfred’s brain goes completely dead. “Wh-what?” He wants to push Arthur away and tell him it’s not a funny joke to mess with him like this, but the look in Arthur’s impossibly green eyes leaves him unsure that “joke” would be an accurate accusation.

“I didn’t know how you felt until Francis came and talked to me. I thought he was asking because he had figured out my feelings for you, but from the way he spoke, it… it sounded like… like everything I’ve ever hoped for might be true.” Arthur hovers over him far enough that he can look into Alfred’s eyes, but his lips hover just close enough to Alfred’s as he speaks that Alfred is left gasping in his breath.

Alfred scrunches his brow, trying to hang onto some semblance of rational thought and simultaneously praying that this is just a dream. It can’t possibly be real. He frowns as anger rises up from under the hormones and the thrill of Arthur being this close. “Wait. If you’ve really felt this way for so long, why didn’t _you_ tell _me_ how you felt?”

Arthur ducks his head into the crook of Alfred’s neck. “I know I should have, obviously,” he mumbles bashfully. “I was afraid. I didn’t know if you would be interested in me and even if I thought you were, I couldn’t bear to do anything to fuck up our friendship. You’re far too important to me.” His hands fist in Alfred’s t-shirt.

Alfred shivers visibly as Arthur’s lips now brush against his neck. His hands move to hover over Arthur’s hips, but he hesitates to touch.

“God, do you always smell this good up close?” Arthur mutters fervently, his nose pressed into Alfred’s hair.

Alfred swallows tightly. “I—I thought that you… but you always— you’re straight.” With the only person he’s ever wanted literally on top of him and apparently offering him everything he’s ever dreamed about, Alfred’s resolve is crumbling.

Arthur raises his head to stare Alfred down once more. “Ordinarily,” he begins breathlessly, “I suppose I am,” he grinds his hips down against Alfred’s and Alfred gasps. “But you’re… if it’s you…” Arthur’s breath catches and he continues rolling his hips, “I prefer you over everyone else.” His eyes flutter shut and when he opens them again, he leans down and kisses Alfred deeply. Arthur breaks the kiss way too soon, but he then takes Alfred’s hesitant hands and places them on his ass, moaning when Alfred squeezes experimentally.

Alfred uses his hold to slow Arthur’s hips, reveling in the feeling of their bodies this close together and the expressions crossing Arthur’s face and the fact that he seems to have as much trouble breathing now as Alfred does. He leans up and kisses Arthur’s nose only for Arthur capture his lips. Alfred’s hands move more confidently now, sliding under Arthur’s shirt and touching his soft, pale skin for the first time. They both gasp out of the kiss and Arthur grabs Alfred’s wrists.

“What time are your mums coming home?” Arthur asks urgently, as if trying to mentally calculate what he can do with Alfred in whatever amount of time they might have.

“Really late. It’s their ‘date night.’”

Arthur releases Alfred’s hands, straightens up and pulls off his own shirt. “Thank god.” He seems both flustered and pleased at Alfred’s awed reaction. “What? It—it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he mutters, cheeks stained a bright crimson.

Alfred tentatively brushes his fingertips against Arthur’s stomach, like a swimmer testing the water, before his hands smooth over soft skin. “Couldn’t touch before,” he mumbles shyly.

A heavy shudder rolls visibly down Arthur’s spine and a groan escapes his lips apparently without him noticing. “You’ve only yourself to—ah—blame for that,” he says with no bite whatsoever and it’s drowned out all the same by the way he grinds down against Alfred again.

Alfred can’t help the soppy smile on his face as his hands claim territory they have long desired. Arthur is more beautiful than ever with his lips parted just so, releasing soft sighs as he trembles beneath Alfred’s fingers. The ease with which he draws such immediate and obvious reactions from Arthur makes his chest tight with anticipation. Tentatively, his hands caress the insides of Arthur’s thighs.

Arthur gasps audibly as Alfred rolls the heel of his palm against the bulge in his jeans. “Oh-oh god. Alfred!”

Hearing his name in that tone makes Alfred dizzy and it’s the only way he wants to hear Arthur say his name ever again, so he continues massaging firmly.

“Ah— fuck!” Arthur bites his lip, suddenly ceasing as much movement as he can. “Stop. Alfred—ah—stop.”

Alfred pulls his hand away immediately. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Arthur leans down, taking Alfred’s wrists and pinning them to either side of his head. “Lord no. I just don’t want to come yet.” He releases Alfred’s wrists to run his fingers through Alfred’s hair and purr and kiss Alfred’s neck.

Alfred laughs. “If that’s all it takes to make you lose it, I feel sorry for the girls you’ve slept with.”

Arthur bites him in retaliation, but not hard. “Hush. If it’s you, I— anyway, I don’t want to think about them right now, thank you very much,” he scolds, but Alfred can feel him smiling against his skin. He sits up again, pulling at the fabric of Alfred’s t-shirt. “Off with this. And yes, I know it’s nothing I haven’t seen before either, but it’s perfect and you’re mine now and I want it,” Arthur commands with an intoxicated semblance of his usual smirk.

Alfred laughs again, but his head spins as he sits up and the full meaning of Arthur’s words rattles around his brain. His hands fall on Arthur’s waist, with Arthur now seated in his lap. It’s so good. It’s so… right. Without thinking, Alfred wraps his arms around his best friend and pulls him into a crushing embrace, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and breathing in deeply. “I think I’m in love with you, Arthur.”

Arthur gasps and then wraps his arms around Alfred, threading his fingers in Alfred’s hair. “Thank God,” he mumbles, not specifically _to_ Alfred. He wriggles out of Alfred’s hug, placing his hands on Alfred’s shoulders and kissing him. “I’m in love with you also. I should have told you sooner, it’s just I thought… well, you’d said no to everyone else.”

Alfred smiles and hugs Arthur tighter. This is good. This is what he’d wanted all along: sitting in his room with Arthur in his arms and gazing out at the idea of a very long night, gazing out at the idea of a beautiful life. “If it’s you I’ll always say yes.”


End file.
